


Show Me Heaven

by lipeviez



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attraction, F/F, Holidays, Mistletoe, Romance, Seven Minutes In Heaven, bisexual hermione, fleurmioneyuletide2020, hogwarts holiday party shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez
Summary: Frustrated with a certain French girl that won’t leave her mind, Hermione finds herself at a holiday party thrown by her friends and playing a hot and heavy Seven Minutes in Heaven with an unidentified girl who happens to be just as infuriating as the one she’s trying to forget.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 59
Kudos: 320
Collections: Fleurmione Yuletide





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday Fleurmione because why not :)
> 
> It’s the Triwizard year except Hermione's in sixth year.
> 
> Sexual content ahead.
> 
> Fleurmione Yuletide event prompts used: holidays, mistletoe, holiday stress relief, fireplace, preserving traditions, “hey, no peeking!”, holiday not-an-office party
> 
> See the FAQ on the Collection page for full list of prompts. All are welcome to participate!

Chapter 1

Hermione grunted and pressed sloppy kisses onto the silky neck of the witch she was fucking, one hand down the girl’s pants, knuckle deep, the other hand over her mouth trying to keep her noises to a minimum. Then the girl opened her mouth and sucked in two of her fingers.

“Fuck,” hissed Hermione, feeling the heat of the girl’s mouth shoot right down to between her thighs. She whispered, “Don’t bite me, okay?”

The girl mewled and licked around the fingers before pulling back and rushing a reply in panting breaths, “Just ‘urry up and keep fucking me, ‘Ermione Granger. We ‘ave two minutes left and I want to come.”

Hermione frowned as she looked up at the floating timer, which seemed to taunt her by slowly swirling around the various bunches of mistletoe that had been hung on the ceiling of the wardrobe they were in. She was doing the best she could with the maneuvering space she was given; if only the girl would’ve let her unzip her jeans. Feeling challenged and frustrated, the bookworm threw her thigh behind her hand to help with more forceful friction.

The girl’s moans got louder and Hermione was again annoyed that the wardrobe was warded against the use of proper silencing and muffling charms. It only allowed its own proprietary version of one, no doubt thanks to the ingenious Weasley twins who’d left the wardrobe to Ron after they graduated. She’d been told it was enough to muffle low volume conversations but louder sounds would be heard by those nearby. Hermione was doing her best with either her hand or her mouth over the girl’s mouth to smother the moaning, but now that she was thrusting her hips against the girl, she had no doubt people nearby could hear the thumping sounds on the wardrobe’s wall coming from inside. And she couldn’t be sure but it kind of felt like the wardrobe was rocking a bit. Hermione could only hope they didn’t knock the thing over.

Then the witch’s words hit Hermione. She’d been too distracted by the timer and their noises to fully absorb them but now she recognized certain things had just been revealed, not least of which was that this girl knew her name.

Before she’d entered the wardrobe for this game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, Seamus and Ron had told her that each person inside would have a modified disillusionment charm cast on them, allowing the general shape of the person to be seen, maybe a physical feature or two in very close proximity (wink wink), but that would be it. The wardrobe also had wards that prevented the use of a revelio to undo the disillusionment while both occupants were inside. So, Hermione had no idea who this girl was. But now she had clues. The girl knew who she was and had a slight French accent. Their brief conversation from a few minutes ago came to mind; the witch had used a non-descript English accent. Faking it meant the girl thought her voice would give her away. Did Hermione know her? There was a familiarity she couldn’t quite place. Hermione obviously couldn’t tell who it was due to the charm but a French accent could only mean...

_She’s a Beauxbatons student!_

Now she had even more motivation to get this girl off. She would not want it said that Hermione Granger didn’t know how to finish what she started.

*::::*

_~Earlier that day~_

Hermione was reading in the library after lunch. It was still the holiday break which meant she had the library to herself and even though she’d been fighting off the blues recently, she was enjoying the peace and quiet. That all ended when she heard a tinkling laugh that made her jaw clench so hard it hurt. Taking a peek over her book, she saw those Beauxbatons girls over by a shelf, Fleur Delacour among them. They seemed to inhabit the library whenever she was there. Just to annoy her, she was sure of it. She scowled, wanting to yell at them for being in uniform when they didn’t have to be. But she held her tongue, not wanting more of their attention. Laughter always followed their grating looks in her direction. Hermione didn’t know why they looked at her like that but she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if any of them wanted to be friends. And she knew this for a fact after the humiliation that happened a few weeks ago.

She’d been eating dinner in the Great Hall when she finally summoned her courage to speak to one of the Beauxbatons students that had caught her eye. They were all beautiful but one in particular haunted her thoughts and dreams. A blonde, blue-eyed girl with a steely, intelligent air. Fleur was the chosen champion for the Triwizard Tournament and practically every boy in the school was drooling over her. She was a Veela and her thrall lured them to her but she didn’t appear interested in any of them. In fact, it was Hermione who she had been stealing looks at ever since the visiting schools had arrived. And the brunette knew this because she was stealing looks at her, too. There had been a couple of passing exchanges in the castle corridors that intrigued Hermione and gave her the impression that Fleur was intrigued as well. The brunette had also researched as much as she could about Veela and she liked that she wasn’t affected by the blonde’s thrall; she liked to think that it made what she felt more real than those drooling idiots. Her attraction to the girl got to the point where her friends Harry and Ron had noticed and encouraged her to do something about it. That evening she’d decided it was time.

Hermione had walked over to the Ravenclaw table. Many eyes were on her at that point but Fleur’s back was to her and hadn’t noticed. To her lifelong mortification, she didn’t see the student barreling towards her as he rushed to his seat. He knocked into her as he passed, which caused Hermione to trip over her own feet and went shoulder first into Fleur’s back, accidentally forcing the girl’s face into her plate of food. Hermione had apologized profusely, had tried to help clean Fleur with a napkin, all the while stumbling through an invite to Hogsmeade. But Fleur’s rage would not be mollified. The blonde angrily declined her invite and rudely admonished Hermione and Hogwarts students in general over their poor manners. Other students laughed at her and there were a few insults tossed in from the Slytherin table. Losing her temper, she unleashed her own anger at the blonde and then she ran out of the Great Hall. Harry later tried to tell her that Fleur looked regretful and eyed the doors for a long time during dinner as if she waited for her return, but Hermione refused to believe him. If that were true, Fleur would’ve sought her out to smooth things over. Not this constant invasion of her space with amused stares and laughter at her expense, making her relive that horrifying event every time she saw them.

And yet.

Sometimes her eyes would meet blue ones and Hermione would get the sense that Fleur longed for something. It was unnerving. Because as angry as she was at what happened, she was still attracted to the blonde. But she wasn’t going to be the one to approach this time. It was Fleur’s turn.

Just as she thought this, she noticed Fleur stepping away from her friends and walking towards her. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Ron came into view, quickly striding towards Hermione’s table.

“Party tonight. Room of Requirement,” Ron said loudly.

“What?” Hermione asked distractedly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see how Ron’s words had caught the Beauxbatons girls’ attentions.

“Seamus and I are preserving Fred and George’s tradition of throwing a holiday party. Spread the word.”

“The Yule Ball was just three days ago, that wasn’t enough party for you?”

Shivers went down her spine at the memory of the Yule Ball. She’d gone with the Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum. Hermione liked boys as well as girls, and she’d liked the attention he’d given her. But whatever spark she thought she could fan into flame died at the sight of Fleur at the ball. Viktor was nice but nothing could compare to the heat she felt whenever cold blue eyes met hers. Fleur sent fierce glares her way and Hermione had answered them in kind. It was like some sort of battle that lasted throughout the night. Hermione still didn’t understand why it had happened, only that it had ruined her date. When the ball ended, Viktor politely thanked her for accompanying him but told her in no uncertain terms that he would cease his pursuit as it was clear she wasn’t interested. It added one more thing to the list of reasons to not like Fleur Delacour.

“Besides, you know I never went to any of the twins’ parties while they were here. Just juvenile excuses to get drunk and cause mayhem. That’s not my idea of fun.”

“You’ll want to go to this one, believe me,” Ron replied with a smirk.

“And why is that, Ronald Weasley?”

“Because it’s going to be a makeout party.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open. He laughed and then walked away. A striking, raven-haired Beauxbatons girl stopped him. Fleur looked bored and uninterested, but Hermione noted how a few of the other girls glanced at her while Ron was gesticulating wildly as he told them about the party, doing well considering Fleur usually made him a purple-faced mess.

Later that evening, Hermione sat alone in the Gryffindor common room, reading a book. It was empty because of the holiday break and most of the younger students had gone home, but it was also empty because many of the sixth and seventh years still in the castle were currently attending this so-called Mistletoe Party.

Throwing her book down in frustration, Hermione glowered at the fireplace, the cheery fire doing nothing to brighten her mood. She wished she’d just gone home to spend the break with her family. Now the stresses of the holiday were compounded by homesickness and an ache for a girl that didn’t like her. The humorous stockings her fellow Gryffindors had hung up on the mantle usually drew a smile during the holiday season but not tonight. Tonight, she couldn’t get that damned party out of her head. A makeout party? She absolutely, one hundred percent did not want to go. Hermione was entirely satisfied with her level of experience at her seventeen years of age. There was an ex-boyfriend from last year who was a very good kisser, although she didn’t sleep with him, and a summer fling with a girl with whom she did. _And often_ , she thought with a self-satisfied smile. The fling had been a physical thing only and she had learned a lot. But now she didn’t just want physical, she wanted the emotional connection, too.

Would she find that at this party, though?

Ron and Seamus had done their best during dinner in their attempts to convince her that she would have fun, that it would be a great holiday stress reliever. Even Harry joined in on the peer pressure, even though he wasn’t going since his girlfriend Ginny was a fifth year and Seamus and Ron were only letting in sixth and seventh years. Her friends also said it would soften her image. As the school know-it-all and a prefect, she did find it hard to make friends outside of her existing circle. And she was feeling kind of lonely. She glanced at the time. It was nearly ten o’clock. Ten was when they would close the door to new entrants.

Fine. Hermione would go. She would go and prove she could loosen up and have fun with her peers. And maybe it would be fun. Maybe a spark would light up with someone new, someone she hadn’t considered. Maybe she could make a certain blue-eyed girl jealous.

The prefects were in on helping students make it to the party so Hermione didn’t even have to borrow Harry’s invisibility cloak to sneak past Filch and any other professors on their nightly rounds.

Easily making it to the seventh floor, Hermione arrived at the door. The music was loud and she could tell there were a lot of students inside. To her surprise, some students were already leaving, though there were still students arriving right at ten o’clock just as she was. Following behind one such group, Hermione saw everyone was being met and vetted by Seamus and Ron. Seamus even had a quill and parchment at the ready, writing down a few things after talking with each entering person.

Hermione knew ahead of time about the two-galleon price for entry so she was prepared for that. But after overhearing pieces of the conversation ahead of her, she was aghast. She kept her mouth shut, though, until it was her turn.

When they were ready for her, she stepped forward and huffed at Ron.

“The last one in. So glad you could make it, ‘Mione,” Ron said with a smile. He gestured towards Seamus to lock the door to entry. No more students would be coming in. “I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Skipping the small talk, she jumped right to it.

“Required participation, Ronald? You’re forcing people to kiss people?”

“No, we are not,” replied Seamus. “Everyone is free to leave. And they have done so as I’m sure you saw when you came in.”

“That’s right. Everyone walking through has heard the rules and has freely consented.”

“Incentivizing with firewhisky is a bit of a manipulation, don’t you think?”

“Hold on now, everyone who participates is going to get as much butterbeer as they want. There are areas throughout the room to grab a bottle. Firewhisky is for those who can handle a bit more fire, if you get my meaning, and that can only be dispensed at that bar over there. Besides, I was completely upfront about telling you it was going to be a makeout party. I just didn’t mention the part about the kissing games,” Ron stated. Hermione scowled. She hated whenever he managed to argue coherently.

“And you probably missed us telling this to that group ahead of you,” Seamus added, “But we’ve told everyone at the door our plans before they hand over their galleons. We don’t want anyone to feel like they’re missing out on a chance to let loose with friends just because they don’t want to kiss anyone, so we’re going to use the proceeds from tonight’s door money to throw a New Year’s Eve party in a few days. Fifth years and higher will be invited. No kissing games required.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open. They really had thought of everything. And now it wasn’t just a choice she had to make on whether to party or not. It was whether to attend _this_ party, which required kissing game participation, or not.

After taking a minute to think it over, she handed over her two galleons. She had made it this far, what did she have to lose?

Seamus told her to touch her wand to the parchment, which she did, then he wrote her name down. She tilted her head, trying to see what was next to the names of the people ahead of her on the list.

“Hey, no peeking!” warned Seamus, pulling the parchment to his chest. “This is an enchanted parchment. And we are bound by secrecy not to reveal the names of participants of a certain game involving a wardrobe to anyone.”

Rolling her eyes, she waved at them to continue. The boys then proceeded to give her the rundown of the party rules. In addition to the two galleons, all entrants were required to participate in at least one of three games.

The first was Spin the Bottle. Everyone was required to stay in the game long enough that they kissed at least one person. Closed-mouth pecks were permitted, but it had to be on the lips. If they kissed three people, that would earn them a shot of firewhisky. Ron said a majority of attendees had chosen this game. Looking over his shoulder, Hermione could see various circles of people throughout the room smiling and laughing over a bottle on the ground.

The second game was Truth or Dare. This wasn’t necessarily a kissing game but Hermione knew it often went in that direction. Participating meant drinking a dose of veritaserum, creating the incentive to take some dares to avoid honest truth telling. One dare minimum required, and for every two dares taken, that would earn a shot of firewhisky. Not surprisingly, the boys told her there weren’t many people who’d signed up for this game. Seamus pointed out one group off in a corner and sure enough, it consisted of the more adventurous students she knew of at Hogwarts.

Seven Minutes in Heaven in a wardrobe was the third game. Anyone who signed up for this game was guaranteed three shots of firewhisky. Unlike Spin the Bottle where a quick peck on the lips counted as the minimum, the magical mistletoe hanging in the wardrobe required participants to kiss on the mouth for at least twenty seconds. Those who didn’t would violate the mistletoe contract and have bad luck for two weeks.

“I don’t see why anyone would choose that game then,” Hermione laughed nervously, trying to hide her interest.

“You’d be surprised. I think the added incentive of a disillusionment charm takes away some of the fear.”

“What do you mean?”

They explained that Seven Minutes participants would have modified disillusionment charms cast on them; some features might be visible but not enough to determine a person’s identity, making it impossible to know who people were kissing unless they themselves decided to tell their partners. There were some other peculiarities to the wardrobe and she was impressed with the twins’ foresight and magical abilities. She wasn’t keen on the random selection to the pairings (what if she got someone she hated?) but if she kept quiet on who she was, then whoever she got wouldn’t have rumors to spread. Ron was right; the anonymity of it was an appealing incentive. Playing spin the bottle meant whoever she had to kiss would see her and the prospect of seeing disappointment on their faces didn’t sit well with her.

“You know, all the Beauxbatons girls here put their names down for Seven Minutes. And none of them have been called yet,” said Ron in a low, conspiratorial voice.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and she resisted scanning the room. She could feel it in her gut, though. Fleur was here somewhere.

“Did they? Aren’t you not supposed to say who’s playing that game?” she asked in as indifferent a voice as she could muster. It was a futile effort. Ron knew which girl she was itching to look for and he laughed at her playacting.

“Did I name names? Whose name would you want me to say, hmm?”

Hermione pursed her lips, irritated with Ron’s hints at her crush on Fleur.

“So, what shall it be?” asked Seamus, defusing the tension with a chuckle. His expression told her he already knew her choice.

“Three shots of firewhisky is incentive enough,” Hermione answered casually. “Put me down for Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Brilliant!” Seamus and Ron said together gleefully. Seamus wrote the game’s name on the parchment next to her name and instructed her that when it was her turn, one of them would come get her. Two others were currently in charge of gathering students for that game but after they finished signing her in, it would be their turn.

“I’m surprised you’re not participating, Ron,” teased Hermione, letting go of her annoyance at him from a moment ago. “This seems like something you would kill to be a part of.”

“Yeah well, I don’t think Lavender would like it,” he replied sheepishly, and Hermione smiled back, glad to hear he was finally doing something about his crush on Lavender Brown.

Seamus laughed and slapped him on the back and said, “And I’ve got my eye on someone, too, so we’re the perfect ones to be in charge. Now with the time we have available, not everyone will be able to go into the wardrobe so there’s a chance you won’t be called at all. But you’ll still be able to have the firewhisky while you wait.”

Ron asked, “Preferences on your kissing partner?”

She gave them both a hard stare. This was where she would ordinarily remind them that she liked wizards and witches but in the end she muttered, “Witches.”

Hermione just didn’t feel like kissing a random boy who would likely try to grope her in the dark. Not that girls didn’t grope, too. She told herself her preference had nothing to do with wanting to improve the odds of getting paired with Fleur, assuming her gut was right and she was here. Hermione just wanted to get the Frenchwoman out of her head and thought a witch would do a better job of that.

Seamus marked it down and they pushed her further into the room to get swallowed up by raucous music and teenage hormones.

Hermione smiled politely at a few classmates as she walked to the bar. In order to get there, she had to walk around the dancefloor, where lots of students were dancing wildly. She saw various Beauxbatons students but so far none were the ones from the library. It was interesting how the foreign students chose to dress at the party. The Durmstrang boys and girls coordinated in red turtlenecks and black trousers. The Beauxbatons students were mainly in their uniforms, although some were in regular clothes. From what she could see, most of those were in pretty cocktail dresses and skirts so they may as well be in their uniforms as far as she was concerned. Feeling a little self-conscious about her blue jeans and simple pink long-sleeve henley, she continued on towards the bar.

It wasn’t a very big bar, maybe two meters long. There weren’t any stools to sit on so she just leaned up against it, put her hands on top, and yelled for the bartender’s attention. He was a seventh year Hufflepuff, and when he turned her way, he immediately looked down at something before promptly serving her a shot of firewhisky along with a bottle of butterbeer. It was probably a list that matched with the enchanted parchment Seamus had which made sense; the students in charge of handing over the shots had to know which games people signed up for and what they were allowed to have. She felt a blush on her cheeks at the knowing smile coming from the Hufflepuff. Wanting to avoid that smile, Hermione looked down at her drinks. The alcohol content of this particular brand of butterbeer was not strong, maybe the equivalent of a quarter serving of regular beer, but it served its purpose as a chaser for the firewhisky. Downing her shot which burned her throat, she grabbed the butterbeer and decided to walk around the room.

Everything was decorated in garish holiday decorations, tinsel hanging from the ceiling, twinkling lights of every color imaginable thrown up on walls and on various shaped trees and bushes. The lighting was dim, giving the games an intimate atmosphere but also making the dancefloor feel like a nightclub. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Seven Minutes wardrobe was positioned towards the back of the room, but not up against a wall. The students who were standing near it appeared to be laughing. Was that a cheer she just heard? Turning away, she focused on the other games around her. Comfortable loveseats and pillows on the floor were strewn about the room, giving those spin the bottle games a cozy ambience. Hermione made her way to a wall where she could watch the proceedings without drawing attention. There was less debauchery than expected for what had been pitched to her as a makeout party. Aside from the partially clad truth or dare players, and a few couples kissing in secluded corners and alcoves, the dancing was tame and the overall mood seemed lighthearted and carefree. After a while, she realized most of the party-goers seemed more excited about the games and less so about the firewhisky. Not that they weren’t drinking, and she did see a few that looked drunk, it just seemed that most of the students weren’t making it a goal to get as wasted as possible. It took a while for her to get it but she eventually came to the conclusion that the alcohol was the excuse, not the incentive. It was something to blame for why they had consented to participate in these games so they didn’t have to admit that they wanted to kiss people.

A laugh bubbled up in her chest at this realization but then she finally spotted the Beauxbatons girls that Ron had spoken to in the library, the ones that always seemed to know when she’d be alone at the library. They were laughing together near a game of spin the bottle. It appeared a couple of girls in their group were playing. Looking closer, she saw Fleur give a quick peck to a Ravenclaw girl. Then blue eyes met hers, and pink lips curled into a smile. She didn’t know how to interpret that smile. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said Fleur looked pleased to see her. But she did know better. Which meant that smile was a taunt, a taunt of what she couldn’t have.

Jealousy slashed through Hermione’s chest. Part of her wanted to join that circle and snog every person there _except Fleur_. That would show her.

The other part of Hermione, the hurt part, wanted to run. And that’s exactly what she did, heading straight back to the bar for her second shot of firewhisky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended this to be a oneshot but it got long so I broke it into two. Also, check the author note in ch 1. I added info about the Fleurmione Yuletide collection.

Chapter 2

Hermione tilted her head back and let the firewhisky slide down her throat. The burn wasn’t as bad as the first one. She tapped her finger on the bar to signal she wanted her third shot and a fresh bottle of butterbeer then she briefly glanced around at the décor again. There was a surprising lack of mistletoe for a Mistletoe Party. But she supposed it was what the name implied that mattered. Mistletoe equaled kissing and there was plenty of that going on around her and bloody hell, why did she come to this party again? Her drinks were put in front of her and Hermione let them sit there as she finished off the dregs of the butterbeer she’d had with her. Resisting the urge to look back at that game, at _her_ , Hermione stayed at the bar and conversed with the seventh year Hufflepuff acting as bartender. His name was Nick and was friends with Seamus; he had a muggle boyfriend and they were monogamous so he was glad to help out by staying behind the bar.

The alcohol was doing its job of giving her a pleasant buzz, and she liked that. But it was also lowering her inhibitions, making it harder to push away the feelings that fought their way to the surface. Like how enamored she was with Fleur. Hermione grimaced, remembering her naïveté at thinking they had something. She had had such hopes when she decided to ask her to Hogsmeade. Those were ground into dust when she’d gotten yelled at for her efforts. That should have been the end of it. Why was she still pining? And why was she so fucking jealous of that Ravenclaw girl? She hated wondering how many people Fleur had kissed so far tonight.

“‘Ello, je voudrais une butterbeer, please.”

Hermione clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead instead of at Fleur who had just sidled up right next to her at the bar. The blonde could’ve gone anywhere to get a bottle of butterbeer. There was literally a barrel full of bottles near that spin the bottle game she’d been at. Why did she come all the way over here? And more importantly, now that Nick had given her the bottle, why wasn’t she leaving? Those questions left her as soon as she chanced a look at the Veela. Fleur was gorgeous up close. She’d only seen Fleur’s face earlier and hadn’t focused at all on what she’d been wearing. The blonde’s clothes were not what she had expected given how the other Beauxbatons girls were dressed that night. It was relaxed, comfortable yet still sexy. Her hair was down and she was wearing an untucked black button-down shirt with the sleeves cuffed up to just below her elbows, and a pair of well-worn blue jeans. They fit the girl perfectly and Hermione’s eyes wandered down over her curves…

“‘Aving fun?” Fleur asked. Hermione blinked rapidly, hoping she wasn’t caught ogling the girl. She hadn’t expected Fleur to talk to her, and not with such a polite greeting, especially considering what happened the last time they exchanged words.

What was she supposed to do now?

“Um, yes. Thanks.” Hermione was panicking. Was there a book she should have read that explained how to talk to a crush-slash-enemy when said person was being nice?

Fleur bit her lip, looking a little unsure. There was a softness in her gaze, a sparkle in her eyes that appeared almost eager for Hermione’s attention, and it was disarming to see her like that. It was such a contrast to the haughtiness she’d been used to. And it was exactly what brought back Hermione’s ire over how insulting the blonde had been in the Great Hall when she’d asked her out. Those were the blonde’s true colors, not this, she reminded herself.

“I’m surprised you’re on butterbeer. Haven’t you earned that firewhisky yet?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Fleur asked sharply, squaring up to face her. “It is a game, non? You are ‘ere playing just as much as I am.”

As she said that, Fleur’s eyes darted to the shot of firewhisky close to Hermione’s hand and the brunette huffed in response, keeping her eyes on the blonde, ready for her to explode in another tirade about manners and how she lacked them. Instead, Fleur glanced back towards her friends still at the spin the bottle game, then turned back to Hermione, regarding her with a thoughtful expression. Hermione marveled at how controlled she seemed. Like she was really trying not to lose her temper. It was so out of character that she couldn’t figure out what the angle was, which put her even more on her guard.

“Not that you asked but that girl was the only one. My friend Celeste felt nervous about the game so I joined in to ‘elp ease ‘er into it.”

Somehow Fleur knew what was bothering her and she hated it. She hated that Fleur had seen right through her jealousy, and she refused to accept the blonde’s olive branch. Gritting her teeth, she turned back to face her drinks on the bar and spit out, “Right. Whatever.”

Hermione knew she was being unfair, unreasonable, and a downright hypocrite, but she didn’t care. She heard Fleur mutter under her breath, obviously exasperated with her, but it was hard to hear with the noise of the party. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter because Hermione didn’t like how off balanced she felt with this unfamiliar incarnation of the Beauxbatons champion, so she turned to walk away.

Fleur reached out and grabbed her arm. “Why is it so ‘ard to talk to you, ‘Ermione Granger? I never ‘ave this much trouble.”

Ignoring how her heart raced at Fleur’s touch, she yanked her arm out of her tight grip, but instead of walking away as she previously intended, she stepped into the blonde’s personal space.

“Maybe it’s because you’re a less than understanding, self-absorbed snob!” Hermione’s heart pounded even harder when her insult only caused Fleur to step closer. She tried to resist but her eyes were drawn to those full lips which were parting to reply.

“And you are an infuriatingly stubborn witch who wouldn’t know ‘ow to forgive someone even if their remorse ‘it you in the face!”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared back into icy blue, quickly preparing a return volley that would have every bit of her rage and hurt behind it, but then Fleur’s eyes drifted down to look at her lips. Hermione’s breath hitched at the hunger smoldering there.

Confused, Hermione turned her head and backed away. She was seeing things. Why would Fleur want to talk to her anyway? If Fleur wanted her forgiveness, she should start out with an actual apology.

“Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Fleur. See you, Nick.”

She waved her hand at the third shot indicating Fleur could have it, grabbed the butterbeer, and quickly left the bar area, ignoring the way Fleur called out to her to wait. As curious as she was as to why the Veela wanted her to stay, she was too flustered. She thought Fleur hated her. But then why all the stalking in the library? Why this approach at the bar? It didn’t make sense.

Wandering around for an hour, she sipped her butterbeer in between mutterings to herself about how this was the worst holiday season ever. Hermione was so distracted, she wasn’t looking where she was going, and nearly dropped her butterbeer when she suddenly crashed into a solid body. Strong hands steadied her and she immediately started apologizing only to stop when she recognized who it was. It was Ron, and right next to him was Lavender. He’d gone with the girl to the Yule Ball but he’d been an idiot and hadn’t made it clear that he wanted it to be a real date so Lavender had spent most of the ball with friends instead of him. Apparently he was making things clear now and Hermione tried to be happy for him.

“Oh, hey Ron. Hey Lavender, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Well, I’m not really here, here. I was helping Ron out with the Seven Minutes game, gathering players and whatnot, while he manned the door,” Lavender replied with a wistful smile, holding onto Ron’s arm as if he hung the moon. It was sweet and everything Hermione didn’t want to see right now. “And now we’re going around together telling people it’s their turn.”

“That’s right,” Ron chimed in, leaning into Lavender’s touch.

“Okay,” Hermione said slowly, eyes flicking back and forth between them as they stared at her with expectant expressions. “What, what is it?”

“What do you think? You’re up,” Ron answered with a smirk.

*::::*

The moment Hermione entered the wardrobe, she felt a little in over her head. The wardrobe looked large from the outside but the inside felt much smaller, which she realized was sort of the point. Thankfully there were no hanging coats to push aside, so she could stand up straight and walk three small paces from one side to the other, and about one large pace from front to back. The bunches of mistletoe hanging on the high ceiling were not very subtle and neither were the glowing numbers that functioned as the timer and also provided enough light so that she wasn’t standing in complete darkness. The timer was currently set at seven minutes. She was bound by magic but kissing a stranger suddenly didn’t sound as appealing as she’d previous thought.

About a minute passed before the back wall of the wardrobe opened. A disillusioned figure stepped up and inside, and the door closed and all the noise from the party was gone. The witch didn’t say anything and Hermione glanced up at the timer, noting that it had begun counting down. Ron had explained that once the timer started, the only sounds she would be able to hear were the ones made inside the wardrobe. There was a front and a back entrance, and when the seven minutes were up they would be exiting through the way they came in. If she was concerned about undoing the disillusionment in front of those milling about the wardrobe, Lavender told her she could wait until she got to a more secluded area of the room. Ron also warned her as she was stepping inside not to stay too long after the timer finished counting down or else they’d be blown out, whatever that meant.

And now here she was expected to kiss this witch she didn’t know. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to try for some small talk.

“They don’t really give you much time to adjust before starting the clock.” Hermione winced at the end of her sentence. Was that an okay ice breaker? At least the girl couldn’t see her blush or her other facial expressions.

“My guess is it keeps things moving,” replied the witch softly.

Hermione couldn’t place the voice. It was slow and deliberate. An English accent so the girl was probably someone she didn’t know from another Hogwarts house, but it seemed very generic; it was unclear which area of the country the girl was from.

“Did you play any of the other games?” Hermione asked, hearing the higher pitch in her voice and trying even harder to push the nervousness away.

“Spin the bottle, but not for very long. What about you?”

“Just this game. The firewhisky was the proper lure, right?”

Hermione chuckled, trying to encourage a similar response from the witch but there was nothing so she let her weak chuckling die out.

“You sound nervous. Are you sure you’re up for this?” asked the witch. Something about the tone rubbed Hermione the wrong way. Like the girl thought she was out of her depth. Which was true, but the girl didn’t have to know that, or draw attention to it.

“I’m here, aren’t I? And it looks like we have about five and a half minutes left. Those twenty seconds aren’t going to kiss themselves so shall we have at it?”

She tried to sound confident but the other witch scoffed, seeing through her bravado.

“It’s the bare minimum for you then,” the girl said, almost mockingly as if it were an insult, and Hermione could perfectly imagine the eyeroll that accompanied it. “Just a close-lipped kiss for twenty seconds and you’ll have earned that firewhisky. I bet it never even occurred to you to actually take advantage of the situation with a complete stranger, no strings attached.”

This sent a jolt of electricity down her spine. The girl’s bitchiness was definitely doing something for her. Hermione was about to reply when the girl approached, causing her heart to nearly stop.

“Of course it did,” Hermione finally squeaked out.

Without warning the girl pressed her up against the back wall of the wardrobe, two hands on either side of her head. Hermione couldn’t see the witch’s features but she could feel her breath on her face. It smelled sweet with a hint of butterbeer.

“Prove it then. I dare you.”

“This isn’t truth or dare,” Hermione breathed, glad she wasn’t completely surrendering (yet) to how the girl’s body just barely brushed up against hers.

“No. It’s seven minutes in heaven. And you’ve wasted a little over two.” The girl nosed into her hair but then dropped her hands and backed away to lean against the front door of the wardrobe. “But you seem very naïve. I don’t think you have it in you to show me heaven.”

This doubt of her daring and prowess enraged Hermione and she knew she couldn’t let it stand. Feeling inadequate in front of Fleur earlier had been bad enough and now this girl was pushing all of her buttons, too. It was obvious the witch was provoking her, goading her into action, but Hermione was tired of stuck-up girls thinking they could act so superior without consequence. She couldn’t see the girl’s mouth but she knew she was smirking and Hermione wanted to kiss it right off.

Her hands shot out and grabbed onto slender hips. Pulling the witch close enough so that their chests were touching, Hermione brushed her nose up against the girl’s face until she’d located her mouth. Then she whispered, “I think someone just wants me to play with her pearly gates.”

The girl inhaled sharply, seemingly surprised at her forwardness. _Good_ , thought Hermione smugly. Her grip on the witch’s hips tightened. Just as the brunette thought the girl was going to back down, a hand grabbed the back of Hermione’s neck and pulled her forward.

There was no build-up, no soft exploration. This kiss was raw and dirty, the fire between them raging in an instant, and it surprised Hermione. It was almost as if the girl had been yearning for this moment, that’s how hungry her lips felt.

After Hermione was sure twenty seconds had passed, she broke away from the kiss and started nipping her way down the girl’s neck.

“No marks,” breathed out the witch.

Hermione rolled her eyes but whispered ‘okay’. She could certainly understand not wanting to be teased later by friends. Sucking and biting on soft skin, being careful not to bruise her, she felt the girl clutching her back, trying to pull her even closer. The brunette dragged her lips back to the girl’s mouth, reveling in her taste and in the little whimpers she could hear in the back of her throat. She pushed and moved the girl until she had her pressed against the back wall of the wardrobe, and she raised a hand to palm a soft breast. Hermione gasped when she didn’t feel a bra through her shirt, wanting so much to kiss down her chest. The witch arched slightly against her hand while biting on her lower lip, and Hermione quickly reached for the collar then started to undo the top button. But then she felt strong hands over her own, stopping her. Disappointed yet respectful of the denial, she was about to pull her hands away when the witch pushed Hermione’s right hand down her stomach and pressed it over the waistband of her jeans.

_Oh._

Her arousal spiked. It was a crazy idea. To go from a kiss to that when they’ve only just met? Then again, while it was true Hermione didn’t know who this girl was, she was definitely attracted to her. And she was not opposed to casual encounters in general. Her fling over the summer taught her that. Maybe this was what she needed. Maybe this would be the spark that would get her to stop thinking about that bloody Veela. Hermione just wished she could see into her eyes. She wanted to see how much the girl wanted this.

“Are you sure?” Hermione asked, her breath quickening in desire.

“Yes. Please,” begged the girl.

Hermione hurriedly grasped the button of the witch’s jeans to undo it but gentle hands stopped her and despite how rushed they were for time, the girl spoke in the same slow voice, “Just inside. Don’t unzip. In case we run out of time and the doors open, I want our clothes fastened and intact.”

Another reasonable argument and Hermione again whispered ‘okay’. The waistband was loose enough that her hand slipped inside her jeans and underwear without too much trouble but it didn’t leave much room for what her purpose was. Fortunately, the girl was already slick and ready and Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest. Had the witch gotten that worked up over a kiss? Wasting no time, she slipped two fingers inside. They both moaned at the sensation and briefly paused to take in the moment. Hermione had done this before but this felt hotter. Heavier. Filling her with a passion that shouldn’t exist after knowing the girl for less than five minutes but here it was, burning her from the inside out.

Once the girl adjusted, she started grinding against the heel of Hermione’s palm and the brunette held still and let her, enjoying how needy the girl was in how she chased her pleasure. When she could sense her impatience, Hermione started moving. It was difficult, and the angle was hell on her wrist, but she did the best she could to move her fingers while rubbing up against the girl’s clit at the same time. Normally the brunette would want to make it last, make it feel as good as possible for the girl, but they were literally racing against a clock.

As the moans grew louder, Hermione moved her free hand over the witch’s mouth, whispering at her to keep quiet in between wet kisses along her neck.

Then the girl opened her mouth and sucked in two of her fingers.

“Fuck,” hissed Hermione, feeling the heat of the girl’s mouth shoot right down to between her legs, making her more than ready if the girl were so inclined to return the favor. She whispered, “Don’t bite me, okay?”

The girl mewled and licked around the fingers before pulling back and rushing a reply in panting breaths, “Just ‘urry up and keep fucking me, ‘Ermione Granger. We ‘ave two minutes left and I want to come.”

Hermione frowned as she looked up at the floating timer, which seemed to taunt her by slowly swirling around the various bunches of mistletoe that had been hung on the ceiling of the wardrobe they were in. She was doing the best she could with the maneuvering space she was given; if only the girl would’ve let her unzip her jeans. Feeling challenged and frustrated, the bookworm threw her thigh behind her hand to help with more forceful friction. This was evidently the right move given how the witch threw her head back against the wardrobe with a loud cry. It was also the right move for Hermione because it helped alleviate her own need for some pressure between her legs.

After worrying about being heard by the lurkers outside the wardrobe, she was shocked to realize the girl knew her name and was from Beauxbatons. Grinding even harder against the witch, Hermione’s mind whirled with desire and the tease of a mystery that needed solving. Had the witch recognized her voice, is that how she knew who she was? She responded fairly quickly with an English accent so it seemed like that had been planned, worried about being recognized. This, coupled with the knowledge of who Hermione was, suggested the possibility that the girl knew her identity before coming into the wardrobe and hid her accent because she thought Hermione would recognize her in some way.

Her thoughts were interrupted when hands reached for the bottom hem of Hermione’s shirt and moved their way up her back. The touch on her bare skin felt good and it spurred her on. The girl’s fingers dug in harder as the brunette angled to try to press in more deeply inside her. Hermione wanted to touch more of her, too, and she no longer cared about who heard them. She moved her free hand down from the witch’s mouth and swiftly slipped it under the girl’s shirt, groping and kneading her breast. If only they were alone somewhere else, she would rip open that shirt and take a nipple into her mouth. Hermione settled for a hard pinch which drew out even louder, more breathless cries.

The tension she felt coming from the girl let her know she was close. The soft light coming from the floating timer also played tricks on her. She thought she could see beauty marks on the girl’s neck, and a few on her face. But when she looked harder, everything blurred. Stupid disillusionment.

She leaned forward and again pressed her lips against the girl’s neck. The kiss was delicate compared to the rough way she was pumping into the witch. Hermione could feel it burrowing into her chest, this feeling that something important was happening. She knew better than to romanticize it. Sure, they had great physical chemistry but this girl had already shown how bitchy she was, and she could very well turn out to be someone she didn’t like. In spite of these rational arguments, the feeling that all of this mattered grew stronger. She wanted to know this girl, this girl who knew her name and was wet from wanting _her_. And somehow the girl could tell this was what she was thinking because she turned her face towards Hermione’s and captured her lips with a hot, gasping mouth, her tongue licking into the brunette as if she didn’t want it to end. Hermione groaned into the kiss, wishing they had all night.

The girl panted loudly, “Thirty seconds, ‘Ermione.”

They were nearly out of time. Vague thoughts flitted through her mind about whether they were responsible for opening the doors or others had that job, but these were drowned out by lust and need. Nothing was going to stop her from making this girl shatter. Grunting with each hard thrust, the girl finally came with a scream of Hermione’s name.

Even though she couldn’t see the witch’s face, the moans against her mouth, the wet heat on her fingers, all of it was glorious. Hermione slowly eased her down from her peak, then withdrew her hand from her jeans but the witch kept her hands under Hermione’s shirt on her lower back, her fingers dipping tantalizingly beneath the waistband of the brunette’s jeans. She rested her forehead against Hermione’s as she tried to catch her breath, and the bookworm was overcome by a wave of affection, wrapping her arms around the girl and holding her close.

“What’s your name?” Hermione asked quickly. She desperately needed to know. She needed to know why she felt so connected to this girl she just met, and how the witch knew her name, and when they could see each other again outside of this blasted Mistletoe Party. There were other questions, suspicions she wouldn’t acknowledge or allow to take shape. But they were there, almost within reach. Hermione just needed to hear her speak one more time.

A warm breath blew on her face and she could tell the girl was going to answer but then the front and back doors of the wardrobe blew open and they were magically thrown out of the wardrobe in opposite directions.

Hermione landed hard on the ground with a grunt and loud cheers went up. Hands lifted her up off the ground so that she was standing. Disoriented at the relative brightness of the room compared to the inside of the wardrobe, Hermione looked around at the cheering students. There was quite the crowd of spectators. The disillusionment charm was still in place but people apparently knew who she was because they praised her performance and addressed her by name; her face reddened as she realized it was because they had heard the girl’s passionate use of it. She had no time to be embarrassed, though. The girl. Where was she?

She ran around the wardrobe but didn’t see anyone. Now that she was out of the game, and people knew who she was anyway, she undid the charm. Some of the other party-goers were still approaching her and patting her on the back but when she asked if they saw who had been in the wardrobe with her, they said no.

“‘Mione! How was it?” Ron came up to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. She shook him off, annoyed at another delay to her search.

“Who was I with? Who was she?” Hermione demanded.

Ron smiled. “That good, eh? Sorry, I can’t tell. Part of the magical contract.”

“Fuck your magical contract, Ronald Weasley, I need to find her,” she growled.

He laughed and said, “Rules are rules, as you like to remind me.” Then Ron leaned towards her to say softly, “I _can_ say that she requested you.”

That was the last thing Hermione expected to hear.

“I thought you said it was random selection.”

“It is. Well, mostly. But special requests are taken into consideration, especially having to do with you.”

Hermione stared at him, puzzled. “Why would I have anything to do with anything?”

Ron laughed. “Come on, ‘Mione. A makeout party three days after the Yule Ball with such careful game rules?”

“But… you didn’t know I would come…” Hermione squinted and shook her head, trying to wrap her head around what he was saying.

“There was always the New Year’s Eve party as backup but I was fairly certain you would show. We just wanted to get you out there and find someone, not keep wallowing like you had been. We hadn’t planned further than getting you here but then _she_ asked for you when she arrived and it’s all worked out well, yeah? By the way, shouldn’t you be looking for someone right about now?”

The brunette stomped her feet, staring daggers at her friend.

“Ronald Weasley! Are you saying you planned this whole thing –”

“Happy Christmas, ‘Mione,” he interrupted cheerfully and bounded away into the crowd before she could hex him.

Hermione was absolutely gobsmacked. She looked around the party and couldn’t believe her friends had planned this. But this was no time to ruminate on how they did it; she had a witch to find. Ron’s revelation that the girl wanted her in that wardrobe with her gave even more meaning to their encounter. She had been right when she had felt something deeper happening between them.

There was another hour left of the party and she felt hot and sweaty. She needed to calm down if she wanted any chance of tracking that girl down. Hermione weaved and dodged her way to the bar and asked Nick for a water. Drinking it down quickly, she took a few deep breaths and turned around to scan the room.

She knew she was looking for a Beauxbatons student and given the sex they just had, the witch was surely just as flushed as she was. Unfortunately for her, they all seemed to be scattered throughout the room. This meant she couldn’t just stand here, she had to walk around.

_Okay, Granger. You can do this._

Hermione slowly walked the perimeter of the room, eyes taking in the Beauxbatons girls. Ignoring the ones in uniforms, dresses, and skirts, she focused on looking for a girl in jeans. But as hard as she looked, even abandoning the perimeter and systematically moving to each game and through the dancefloor, she just couldn’t find her.

What if she wasn’t here? What if she already left? What if she was really a Hogwarts student after all? But then what about that French accent? She had to be from Beauxbatons.

She kept hearing it in her head. The way the girl said her name sounded so familiar. The way the girl kissed her, so full of longing and relief. How she felt coming apart in her arms, like it was meant to be. Hermione suspected the answer was obvious but for the life of her she couldn’t figure it out.

A pit grew in her stomach as time went on and there was still no sight of her. How could she not have asked for her name sooner? She should have demanded it as soon as the witch used her name. She was a complete and utter idiot.

Eventually, Hermione stopped walking and took a shuddering breath, feeling her heart sink. She wallowed for all of five seconds before she lifted her chin and blew out a puff of air, annoyed with herself. It was too soon to give up. She focused again on the facts as she knew them. A Beauxbatons student who asked for her and hid her accent. Very likely someone Hermione knew. And she finally allowed herself to think the questions she should’ve asked herself while she was in the wardrobe. How many Beauxbatons students did she know? How many did she know well enough to recognize a voice?

She swallowed hard.

The answer couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Looking for someone, ‘Ermione Granger?” a loud voice behind her asked.

The party’s music was still blaring and the din of the conversations around her made it hard to hear, but Hermione recognized the voice just the same. Her stomach lurched uncomfortably as she turned around.

At first, the knowing blue eyes pissed her off as they usually did. But the faint sheen of sweat drying on Fleur’s forehead set her pulse racing. Hermione also noted the extra pink in her cheeks, the ruffled state of her shirt, and the jeans that she should have recalled having noticed from their conversation at the bar.

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, ignoring the passing students jostling into them. She had no idea what to say.

The blonde took her arm and guided her to the side of the room against a wall, into a small alcove where classmates wouldn’t be knocking into them, and the brunette was so stunned she let herself be pulled. Hermione could tell Fleur didn’t want to let go of her arm but in the end she dropped her hand to her side. The Veela looked cute and nervous.

“You?” Hermione finally mouthed under her breath. Astounded. Hoping.

Fleur cocked her head and with a shy smile she leaned close to Hermione’s ear, answering, “Oui.”

Hermione snorted loudly. It was too unbelievable and yet it was the only answer that made sense. _Fleur! It was Fleur!_ The voice in the wardrobe matched perfectly, how had she not recognized it?

_Oh Merlin, we just had sex!_

The blonde pulled back and frowned. “Are you disappointed?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. She grabbed Fleur’s hands and put her mouth close to the blonde’s ear so she could be perfectly understood.

“No! I’m shocked, I’m in disbelief. You’re amazing. You could have anyone. Why would you ask for me?”

Fleur stepped closer, taking her turn to put her mouth to Hermione’s ear, this time grazing the shell of it with her soft lips.

“I like you, ‘Ermione Granger.”

She was speechless, her heart having leapt to her throat at the Veela’s words.

“Do you regret what ‘appened? Are you angry?” Fleur asked in a rush, and Hermione softened even more at the worry she heard.

What happened between them in the wardrobe was definitely not something she regretted, nor was she particularly angry that Fleur had hid who she was. The parameters of the game included anonymity and Hermione knew that going in, and knew it when she agreed to fuck her. Well, maybe she was a touch bothered that the blonde got to know and she didn’t during their first time. But she had to admit the not knowing had heightened her arousal. It had been incredibly hot and she could always make Fleur pay for her omission next time. Hermione hoped this meant there would be a next time.

So, no regrets. And now knowing that it had been Fleur all along, she was filled with excitement. Because it did mean something. The Veela had wanted her there. Fleur liked her, and she liked Fleur.

“Not at all,” Hermione finally replied with a bright smile, pulling her head back so they could look at each other. “I’m very happy it’s you, Fleur Delacour.”

The answering smile was blinding and Hermione laughed, her chest bursting with how happy she felt.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ermione, for ‘ow I acted during that dinner in the Great ‘All. It ‘ad been the end of a frustrating day but I should not ‘ave lost my temper like that. You ‘ave no idea ‘ow much I wished I ‘ad said yes so we could ‘ave gone on that date to ‘Ogsmeade; so I could ‘ave asked you to the Yule Ball. I would ‘ave apologized sooner but you are a very intimidating witch to approach.”

Hermione rested her forehead against Fleur’s and said, “So are you… and I’m sorry for losing my temper, too. And for being so hard-headed.”

She heard whooping cheers coming from the direction of the wardrobe. Had another couple lost track of time and gotten blown out? Hermione smiled. She would definitely have to thank Seamus and Ron for organizing this holiday makeout party and keeping on her to attend.

Fleur gently cupped Hermione’s face with her warm hands, blue eyes soft and questioning. She nodded her consent and the blonde pulled her in for a tender kiss, her tongue wet and teasing. Hermione melted, her mind churning through ideas for how they could find time to be alone throughout the rest of the schoolyear, forming plans on how to support Fleur in the tournament.

_Wait, this means we’re dating, right?_

“Oui, we’re dating,” Fleur assured while licking and biting her way down Hermione’s neck, hands moving down to grip her hips as she pressed her against the wall.

Hermione smiled. “You have me dizzy. Did I really ask that out loud?”

“You did, chérie. But less talking, s’il te plaît, more making out,” Fleur murmured. Then she surprised Hermione by waving her hand in a bit of wandless and wordless magic, casting a proper disillusionment charm over them that still allowed them to see each other. Hermione smirked and cast a strong muffliato. The alcove by itself afforded some privacy but with the charms in place, too, no one would see or hear them.

Hermione bit her lip coyly and said, “I believe we have about twenty minutes left before this party ends. Show me what you’ve got.”

The blonde’s eyes darkened in response to her challenge. She pressed herself harder against Hermione, and recaptured her lips in a hard kiss. It was filled with promise and passion and the brunette responded with passion of her own. But what drove her wild was how Fleur contrasted the heat of the kiss with the slowness of her hands as they moved under her shirt, caressing and teasing, moving down to the top button of her jeans only to slide away. It told her Fleur was going to make the most of every one of these last twenty minutes.

Hermione sighed happily into the girl’s mouth, settling her mind so she could be fully present in this moment with Fleur. The missteps and misunderstandings were probably not over, they were both stubborn witches after all, but for now she had heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for all the kind comments. The fic is ending here but I imagine they’ll have more hot public shenanigans in their future lol


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